Maestri 11

Chapter 1

The New Job

The snow was strong, too strong. And it had been falling for nearly two days now. The dark clouds overhead hid the sun and cast gloominess out over the white world. The snow was deep, deeper in some places, but it was still more then Maine had seen in the last couple years. The dim sunlight that somehow illuminated the world—seemingly weaving its way past the dark snow-filled clouds overhead—was dark and blurry. The world was darker now then it had been in years and most didn’t know why. Hell, most didn’t even notice the difference but it was there and it was quite noticeable to the trained eye.

The wind was fast, striking low and hard, and colder then ever. It ripped doors out of peoples’ grasps and numbed the exposed skin. It was the wind necessary for a snowstorm and that was exactly what was happening in Maine. The steadily thickening snow that had once called the dark clouds its home fell in heavy, blinding sheets and seemed to devour the known world. It clung like ant desperately fighting off advancing water and it wouldn’t let go.

The large gray 560 SEL Mercedes-Benz—nicknamed “The Tank” to some and even “The Boat” to others—pulled into the parking lot of The Snapping Lobster Café and shut its loud engine off, rattling first once, then twice before finally falling silent and submissive to the raging storm around it. The vehicle was forceful and threatening to the storm outside its heavy walls and refused to give in though it had no choice due to the driver behind its wheel, controlling it. The lights and wipers stopped instantly and nearly simultaneously as the heavy driver-side door was flung open and its control stepped out onto the snow-covered concrete below.

Alex Hardale didn’t mind as the wind caught the door and slammed it closed for it had done his work for him. He wasn’t a man to complain about people doing work for him since in a way it was his career. In a sick sort of way, he did do peoples’ jobs for them but none would really call them normal jobs though he did do the work that people were too terrified to do. They said they didn’t have the stomach to do the work so he was usually called in. He didn’t mind. It paid his bills; what more could he ask for.

He looked the Mercedes and stuffed the keys into his coat pocket. As he started across the parking lot towards the front door of The Snapping Lobster Café, he looked around to admire the city of Portland, Maine. It had been a long while since he had last seen Portland and now in this blurry whiteness—the way the state was supposed to basically look—he realized that the town hadn’t really changed in the many years. He moved across that sheet of whiteness, blurry and freezing, and some could say that he looked like Death, traveling to find his next true soul to bear down into the Underworld. Clad in all black with only the flesh on his face showing, due to the high-collared black overcoat and black and gray scarf, he could be called a man of evil or even a man of importance but truly he was neither.

Eyeing the outside world one last time, with countless sidelong glances of both curiosity and fear sent in his direction, Alex opened the door of the café and was relieved to be met by a gust of warm, relaxing air. It made him feel as if he was at home in a nice friendly environment that was both relaxing and protective at the same time. The door closed behind him and the cold was forgotten; the warm atmosphere inside the small café had completely taken over and had welcomed a willing Alex Hardale into its open arms.

It was surely small with two dozen or so tables, very few now full of life, and with a quiet atmosphere about it that belonged to a library not a café. The counter was against the far wall, opposite the door, and the rest of the common area was covered with tables, stools, and a table (adjacent to the counter) that held the condiments such as honey, sugar, milk or creamer, napkins, straws, and the occasional empty wrapper.

Alex made his way across the floor, undoing the scarf and top button of his coat as he did, until he was casually leaning against the counter and studying the menu posted on the wall. He regarded the waitress with a charming smile fit for a prince, not a man who resembled Death in appearance, and said in a hard yet comforting—charming—voice, “Yes, I’ll take a large caramel latte please.”

“Surely sir,” she answered, returning his smile, with a little redness in her cheeks, and started towards the coffee maker. He looked down at the counter and began removing his black leather gloves when her voice reached his ear again, “Whipped cream?” He nodded, never looking up.

Alex stuffed the gloves into his coat pocket and turned. He leaned against the counter and crossed both his arms and legs, letting his cold dark eyes survey the tables and chairs of the café. His short black hair was wet from snow, which had now melted into it and wetted it down, and hung in his eyes though the small blockage of his view was not noticeable. He had been doing his job for nearly fifteen years now and knew how to take care of himself, blindfolded or not. He preferred not but when your employer was unknown to you or rather different during each job, it was hard to say when your eyes would be blindfolded to a new job or not.

The only problem now was that he had never seen his new employer before yet the man somehow knew him. Doing what he did, Alex liked to stay low and below the radar though some of his previous employers had given out a good word or two here and there about him and his name was known to quite a few people. Whether they were the right people or not was unknown but that rarely mattered to him. He’d find a way to handle them one way or another. The man had gotten in touch with him and had set up a meeting in this café five minutes ago and now all Alex had to do was find his new employer and maybe the cash would be coming into him once again. He just hoped the man hadn’t been one of the people who had Alex on their bad list. Mr. Hardale knew neither the nature of this proposed “new job” nor did he know anything that it entailed.

And then his searching eyes met the man or rather a man who looked as if he might be able to help Alex out in his search. The front of the café was constructed of large paneled windows nearly twenty feet high, which allowed sunlight to flood into the tall ceiling room and it gave the occupants of the café an excellent view of Portland. And there against the window, that looked out at the parking lot and beautiful snow-covered park beyond, sat a middle-aged man in a business suit in one of the tables, with his eyes locked on Alex and Alex’s every move.

“Here you are sir,” the waitress said, that same small smile spread across her lips, as she handed the man his coffee. “That’ll be three-fifty.” He turned, pulled out the money, and handed it to her, uttering his thank you with another smile equal to the first. Just because he was in a strange—somewhat criminal—line of work didn’t mean that he couldn’t be polite.

Finally taking his eyes away from the stranger in the suit, a trick he had learned early off, Mr. Hardale slowly and casually walked to the condiment table as if the coffee was the only thing on his mind but rather at this point it was the farthest from his mind. The man’s eyes had been like coals and his face had been like stone though a hard-faced Alex didn’t have much to say or compare it to.

He opened two small packages of sugar into his coffee, stirred it around, and then turned from his task to once again face the tables and chairs laid out across the otherwise barren floor of the café. He looked around at the rest of the people, all consumed in their own conversations and ideas, smiled to a couple, and cautiously made his way across the floor to the man sitting quiet and alone. It was hard for him to keep his eyes away from the man but long years of practice had finally paid off in that area.

Alex Hardale stopped in front of the table and looked down at the middle-aged man with questioning eyes. The man knew not to reply. He merely nodded and Alex took his seat, sideways and ready to spring at the first sign of trouble, with right arm on the table, left on the armrest, and legs crossed as if in formal discussion. He leaned back in the chair, with his back to the window, and surveyed the café one last time before turning to the man sitting across from him with a calm, level face. Alex held the coffee in his right hand and brought it to his mouth only occasionally, studying the man’s face and eyes from across the top rim of his cup.

The man was equally dangerous looking though Alex doubted if the man had ever done what he did. Most of Mr. Hardale’s employers were either rich snobby assholes with high-ranking jobs or positions who couldn’t stand their families—wives in particular or “dirty fucking cheating whores” as many had explained through joyless tears, as though Alex really cared—or people who had connections with other rich snobby assholes who wanted the jobs done though very few had ever done what Alex did for a living. None usually did it themselves and that’s why they called Alex. If they did do the jobs themselves that Mr. Hardale wouldn’t have a career to pay his bills from. So, though the man was attempting to look threatening, Alex doubted if he really was.

A face of stone and eyes like dark burnt out coals explained more about the man then Alex cared to know though little of it was important. He looked about forty-five or so with a graying dark brown goatee and a bald head with only the graying brown hair that matched his goatee on the sides, back, and a small area across the top, as if that was going to help keep the sun away. The goatee covered a strong jaw and he carried himself—though he was merely sitting at the moment—as though he held power or at least thought he did.

The middle-aged man swallowed and briefly smiled, finally meeting Alex’s gaze. “Welcome to Portland,” he started in a deep, rough voice pointing out the window at the white city waiting outside in the coldness. “Though I doubt this is the best time of year to be within the city. Even so, I’m glad you could make it.” He held out his hand and Alex took it after returning his coffee cup to the tabletop. “The name’s Jackson Agner. We spoke on the phone.”

“So we did,” Alex replied, taking another sip of his coffee, relieved at the wonderful taste of it. Something needed to wake him up on this miserably cold morning and what better then the taste of a good, hot, refreshing coffee and the news of a new job? He was just glad that he had picked the right person to talk to though again that was another trick he had learned over the years. He always knew who to speak to even though he had never seen the man in his life. “And I’m glad to have made it though the weather is not at its best. I have indeed seen Portland on better days.” He smiled and glanced out the window. “I’m Alex…”

“…Hardale,” Jackson Agner finished, smiling over at the man. Alex turned back to face the man with a stunned expression on his face; an expression that was gone seconds later. But it had been noticeable for too long and Alex wondered if he was getting too old for this. He was beginning to wonder if it was time for him to retire and find a nice place on a lake somewhere and maybe raise a family. Jackson laughed and continued, “I know who you are Alex. Remember, I called you. Remember that I got in touch with you as a favor for someone I know.” This sounded strange to Mr. Hardale but he pushed it aside for the moment. “Remember that I know what you do for a living Alex.”

Mr. Hardale slowly nodded and took another sip of his coffee, considering if he was making the right choice. He was getting a little rusty and though he had blamed this on not having a job in a while, he was beginning to wonder if it was he and not the situation set out before him. Taking in a deep breath, Alex looked back up and regarded Jackson with harder eyes then intended. “What’s this new job you told me about, Mr. Agner? You said you wanted to meet me here, well, here I am. I’m listening.” Another sip of coffee to let the man catch up was all he needed. “What are you proposing?”

Jackson leaned over and picked up a silver briefcase, which had been resting on the floor next to his feet. He laid it atop the small café table and opened it. Alex looked around, briefly and quickly, and saw that no one was paying them any attention. Mr. Agner pulled two photos from the briefcase before closing it again.

“I have a friend who owns a large pharmaceutical company in downtown Bangor,” Jackson started, shuffling the two photos back and forth in his calm hands, keeping them invisible to Alex’s eyes. The photo’s backs were to him and all he could make out was a figure on the opposite side, the side facing Jackson. “A man by the name of Greg Walton owns the rival pharmaceutical company in Bangor and my friend wants to end the rivalry between the two companies. He believes that Bangor will only be truly happy once the two companies are unified. He needs to unify them but Mr. Walton doesn’t want this. Of course my friend would become the owner of both companies and reap all the rewards.”

“Naturally,” Alex replied, nodding, sipping from his latte as he did.

“Naturally,” Jackson agreed, pushing both pictures to one hand. “But my friend doesn’t want to eliminate Mr. Walton from the running. He would rather see Mr. Walton come to his side in legal terms and partnership. You understand?”

Mr. Hardale took another sip from his coffee and fell silent, merely staring across the table at Mr. Agner with an emotionless, careless expression glued across his face. He simply put the coffee down and tilted his head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t really understand Mr. Agner. I see how your friend wants the company but if you ask me, it’s not really any of my business. With Mr. Walton still alive, I see where that might help your friend but I don’t really see where that brings me into the picture. I still don’t see how any of this helps me.” He took another sip of coffee and looked out over the few people littering the common area of The Snapping Lobster Café. “Now I don’t have much time Mr. Agner,” Alex continued, turning to face Jackson again, “and as I recall, you contacted me. So, let’s say we get down to business and you bring me into the picture. Why don’t you give me your proposal and I’ll see what I can do.”

The man didn’t look the least bit happy about this. He frowned and sat back in the chair in quiet fury, once again shuffling the two photos back and forth. The silver briefcase stood closed and mysterious on the tabletop between the two men and Alex longed to see what was being held within its dark depths. He noticed how Jackson suddenly didn’t like having control taken away from him—not even for a split moment—and Alex knew that that weakness alone would bring the man to his knees. It would be the man’s undoing. Alex saw how Jackson didn’t like being commanded, didn’t like being bossed, and knew immediately that the man would definitely not like being at the opposite side of that line.

Jackson Agner swallowed again—this time swallowing his building anger—and took in a deep breath. “Well, Mr. Hardale I was just getting to that point.” He re-gathered himself and seemed to mentally calm himself down because of Alex’s outburst. But Alex had learned that in this business he had to have a very small, uncaring heart and forceful presence or else he wouldn’t be alive anymore. “My friend doesn’t want Mr. Walton dead because he wants the employees from both companies and only under Mr. Walton’s leadership will his employees follow my friend. So my friend proposed getting rid of Mr. Walton’s wife.” He paused and gave Alex a considering study before passing him the two photos, which he had been juggling for the past couple minutes. “As a way to scare the man, as it were.” He pointed to the pictures and raised an eyebrow. “Her name’s Emily Walton and she is the woman who my friend wants you to murder—to be rid of rather.”

Alex held a photo in each hand and took just as long on each one, studying the woman that occupied each. The one in his right hand was a picture of her in a dress taking a seat at a table in an outdoor café and the one in his left hand was a close-up picture of her face, to focus on her features—memorable and non-memorable. With large, innocent dark eyes and long straight black hair, she was a figure of beauty that was certainly the centerpiece of every picture and mantle that held those pictures.

Alex looked up from the pictures at the grinning man across from him, and then let his eyes fall to them once again before he put them down on the table and picked up his coffee. “I see where you’re coming from Mr. Agner and I must say that your friend’s proposal is quite ingenious.” He let a small smile curve the edges of his lips as he took a longer gulp from his coffee, noticing Jackson incline his head slightly as if to nod his approval. “But I see flaws—as in all cases—but I must just ask one question my friend.” Jackson’s attention went up and he seemed to be concentrating on what Alex had to say. “Why does your friend want this woman dead instead of Mr. Greg Walton? How will this “scare” Mr. Walton into selling or rather merging his company?”

Jackson laughed and clapped his hands together merrily. His laughter was deep and rough but rather cruel sounding also. “You know Mr. Hardale, you cease to amaze me.” Why jackass? Alex thought amusingly. I haven’t done any tricks for you yet? “I heard about you from some respectable people who gave me many a good word about you but yet you’re still unpredictable. After so many years of this work you still find it necessary to ask that question?” The man’s laughter increased but Alex didn’t find it hilarious in the least.

“Yes, I do find it necessary, Mr. Agner,” Mr. Hardale replied strongly, meeting the man’s gaze with a glare. “And I expect an answer from my employer or he can find someone else.”

Mr. Agner’s laughter ceased immediately. “Very well then. My friend considers it much easier to get rid of a man’s wife rather then the man himself. If Mr. Walton disappears then the entire company will be worried about him—asking questions and going to the authorities, matters such as that—but if his wife disappears not as many people will notice. Sure, they’ll be questions and worried folk but it’s much easier for the man to lie about where his wife went then it is to lie to an entire company and expect all of them to believe you. ‘She went off with another man’, ‘She was having an affair’, or ‘I came home one night and she was gone; not even her parents know where she took the kids.’ Do you see what I mean Mr. Hardale? It’s much easier to make up a believable story about that rather then a company owner disappeared in his depression. Catch my drift?”

Alex was silent for a moment, regarding the man with a simple frown of his own. He was studying Jackson as if looking for a way to see through his little charade. Picking up his coffee, never taking his eyes from the middle-aged man sitting opposite him, Alex drank wholeheartedly from the luke-warm liquid and swallowed the rest of it down. He let the empty cup fall back to the table in his heavy, tired hand, yet he still didn’t remove his gaze from Jackson’s direction. The man was hiding something—Mr. Hardale had seen that guarded look countless times—though he couldn’t seem to place a finger on what it exactly was. It might be true that he was going soft in his older age—if thirty-eight was considered old though in his line of work it might be. Was he not able to see through people anymore, see through them and see what they were really hiding? Was he not able to pinpoint exactly what they wanted and why? He could sympathize with Mr. Agner, it did feel bad not being in control of the situation and at this point, he wasn’t in control.

“Oh, I catch your drift all right Mr. Agner,” Alex replied, looking out over the people in the café again. “But I still don’t see how it’s right. To take an innocent woman’s life because a man is too afraid to take a risk is cowardly. I don’t see the reason behind it.”

“Cowardly?” Jackson spoke up angrily, finally allowing his feelings to surface. “My friend, cowardly?” He frowned and leaned forward again, leaning close and glaring harder then ever. “You don’t see reason behind it?” He mocked furiously. Jackson was unaware that he had raised his voice and quickly lowered it in embarrassment as he caught a couple eyes turn in his direction. “What do you mean, no reason?” He laughed and threw his arms up disbelievingly, leaning even closer across the table until their faces were nearly touching. He gave the room a sly glance, lowered his voice, and added, “Mr. Hardale, you’re a fucking hitman! You’re a fucking professional killer and you’re telling me that it has no reason? What the fuck do you know?”

Alex frowned angrily and bounded forward toward an un-expecting Jackson Agner, who fell back in his seat completely startled. His chest heaved up and down faster then before and he uttered a little cry of shock. “Don’t you dare tell me what I think is reasonable or not!” Alex hissed across the table at him angrily. “Don’t you ever tell me what I think or do is wrong or right!” He took in a deep breath and glanced around the room in his fury. Fire was dancing back and forth between his eyes. “Don’t you ever mention my career in that manner again! If I don’t get any respect then you’ll just have to find someone else to do your friend’s job!” He pointed a finger at Jackson and raised his voice above all reason, getting blank stares though he cared nothing about them. “And don’t you ever mock me or so help me God you’ll be on my next hit-list!”

Mr. Agner reeled back in shock and fear, pushing his chair back to get as far away from Alex as humanly possible. With a wide-eyed look of horror, that disrupted that face of stone, the man muttered, “I’m sorry Mr. Hardale. I don’t know what possessed me to speak in that manner. I swear that it’ll never happen again.”

Alex resumed his former position in his seat, glancing around the café daring anyone to speak up against him. None did. The few that were now paying attention immediately turned with terrified eyes once he made contact and that was all that was done. Mr. Hardale pulled the tail of his coat down and cleared his throat, acting as if nothing had happened. As a professional killer—hitman or hired assassin as some called it—he had a temper that was easily triggered and over the years he had grown accustomed to quiet it though some things really pissed him off. What Mr. Agner had just said was one of the few and Alex didn’t put up with that, especially not from an employer who needed his help. Alex didn’t need the man’s help though he knew that man needed his help more then anything else and Alex swore that he wasn’t going to deal with people such as Jackson or at least not deal with the man’s over-confident, snobby attitude. Mr. Hardale drew the line somewhere and Jackson had mistakenly stepped over it and there was no turning back.

“Let’s hope that it doesn’t,” Alex answered, doing his best to calm himself down though it was much easier these days. He sighed and went to grab the cup of coffee before realizing that it was empty. He sighed again in disappointment and let his hand drop limply to the tabletop. “All right, now that that’s settled Mr. Agner. What do you have for me? What does this entire job entail?” He paused and rubbed his chin. “I need to know everything that’s involved; everything down to the smallest thing or else it’s not going to work out that well. If your friend wants it done right then I suggest you do a good job in explaining it all to me.”

“All right Mr. Hardale,” Jackson started up cautiously, still eyeing the man strangely, almost in fear. “It’s quite simple Mr. Hardale. This job is just like every other job you’ve ever taken. My friend just needs Mrs. Walton taken out of the picture, it’s that simple. You can do it your way, with your method, as long as it’s a clean death. You know, if there’s any evidence it’s all on your head Mr. Hardale.” Alex nodded, having known this fact since the day he started all those years ago. “Very well. A clean and sound death, that’s all my friend is asking for with no questions asked my friend.”

“Very well,” Alex said, nodding again. “That can be arranged. It doesn’t sound much different then any of my other jobs. A clean quick kill with no questions and no disruptions, right?” Jackson nodded, smiling again in satisfaction. “All right.” It was more to reassure himself rather then the man sitting across from him.

“So, it can be done?”

Alex looked up at the man with shocked eyes. Had Mr. Agner not been listening to a single word being said? Had he been completely ignoring Alex for the past two minutes or so? What kind of question was that? Alex nodded and repeated, “Yeah, of course it can be done. No problem at all Mr. Agner.” He rubbed his chin, looked around the café again, and smiled. “You did the right thing by coming to me Mr. Agner. I’m one of the best at what I do and that’s why I’m still sitting here in front of you rather then resting in the grave or rotting in prison. I’m good at what I do and once I have a job, I never quit until it’s completely over.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Of course I’ll take the blame if any evidence is found and I will not give the name of my employer.”

“Good, see that you don’t.”

Alex smiled again, but this time in disgust. “Your friend won’t be disappointed Mr. Agner. You chose the right man for the job; I’ll get it done quickly and cleanly.” He looked down at the table before laughing and looking back up at the once again calm man sitting across from him. Alex was happy that he had put a scare into the man. It had done Jackson some good to see the situation ripped from his control. It strengthened him. “But before I do anything I want to know what kind of money your friend’s willing to pay for a job like this. I have bills to pay, the same as you Mr. Agner and I need my income.” He paused and tilted his head. “What kind of money am I looking at here?”

Jackson leaned forward in his chair and laughed loudly. “I knew you’d get around to asking Mr. Hardale.”

“I always do.”

Mr. Agner grabbed the silver briefcase and spun it around until it was facing Alex. He unclasped it and lifted it up. More photos of Mrs. Walton as well as a couple documents of information filled the inside but besides that it was rather plain. He gave the entire café a sidelong glance before lifting the floor and revealing rows of twenties, fifties, and hundreds, all stacked new and neat.

“These documents and photos hold any information you might have about Mrs. Walton,” Jackson continued, lowering the floor of the briefcase again to once again seal the money away. He took the two pictures from the table and stuffed them into the briefcase before closing it again and pushing it aside. “Do not get in touch with anyone about this, especially not me unless you have no other choice. Understand?” Alex nodded. This man really is paranoid, Alex thought harshly. “My friend is willing to pay fifty-thousand for this job. Twenty-five thousand is in the bottom of the briefcase there and the other twenty-five is elsewhere.”

“Where?” Alex spoke up immediately. If he wasn’t going to get paid the full amount then he was just going to walk out of the café and find work elsewhere. “And how do I get it?”

“You get half now and half once the job is complete Mr. Hardale,” Jackson answered, crossing his arms. “I’ll be in Portage in two days and I’ll be waiting for you with the rest of them money. Show to me, somehow, that the job is complete and you get the money and we part ways forever. You’ll be fifty thousand dollars richer and my friend will give his thanks. End of story. But if I’m not satisfied then my friend won’t be satisfied and then we’ll have a problem Mr. Hardale.” He pushed the briefcase across the table to Alex. “You get twenty-five thousand either way Mr. Hardale. This money is yours as of right now but the other will only be yours if the job is done and done right. If not then you will neither get the money nor a good word from us and you might have some more enemies on your hands. You don’t want that, do you Mr. Hardale?”

Alex shook his head and grabbed the briefcase. He pulled it off the table and set it on the floor next to his chair, never taking his eyes off the middle-aged man sitting across from him. “Not at all Mr. Agner. That’s why I expect to do the job right and receive the rest of my money. I don’t take kindly to threats and I think you may have just passed one my way Jackson.” He frowned across at the man, who returned it equally yet with a hint of terror behind it, and leaned forward in his chair again. “You don’t have to worry about a thing Mr. Agner. Tell your friend that I’ll have his job done for him and I’ll be expecting my money. Tell him I accept and that he has nothing to worry about. I haven’t failed yet and I don’t plan on starting now.”

“Let’s hope you don’t Mr. Hardale or we will have a problem on our hands,” Jackson laughed through his new smirk.

“Yes Mr. Agner,” Alex replied, eyeing him strangely. “Yes, we will have a problem on our hands. And a big problem at that.” His stone cold stare didn’t seem to reassure the man across the table but it seemed to rather horrify him one last time.

“And remember Mr. Hardale,” Jackson said seriously, eyeing Alex with a serious expression of anger that slowly unfolded across his face, “no questions. “Remember and remember well Mr. Hardale, absolutely no questions asked.” The man seemed to be afraid of something and despite Alex’s best efforts now to worry about it, it was in his mind and blinking red, alerting him of something.

“No questions asked,” Alex agreed, pushing his chair back and standing. He stretched and looked around the café again. “You don’t need to worry about that Mr. Agner. I never ask questions because the affairs of others have nothing to do with me. I do my job and leave.”

“Good. That’s what I expect.”

Alex nodded and slightly inclined his head at the middle-aged man still sitting at the table. “Now if you will please excuse me sir. I have business to attend to so I’ll leave you now and get on with it.” He leaned over and picked up the silver briefcase, feeling the warm metal in his grasp and sighing at the relief of it. “Leave my regards with your friend Mr. Agner. Tell him I’ll have the job done as soon as possible and he won’t be disappointed.” He put the briefcase down again, reluctantly, pulled out his black leather gloves and pulled them over his hands. He pulled the collar of his overcoat up and retied the scarf, feeling the warmth quickly spread through him. He bathed in the warmth and knew that it would soon be gone. He picked up the briefcase again and sighed for a second time knowing that the money inside was all that he needed to have a good day. He hadn’t had a job in a while and the feel of the money felt extremely good in his hands.

“Good luck Mr. Hardale,” Jackson said, nodding back to the man. “Though I doubt that you’ll need it. I heard countless good remarks about you from your previous employers so please don’t disappoint me Mr. Hardale. My friend will not be satisfied and you may have to endure some dire consequences my friend.”

“Then I’ll see that I won’t disappoint your friend Mr. Agner.”

“I’ll see you again in Portage Mr. Hardale. And see that the job is done correctly once you arrive. I’d hate to see you have to deal with the consequences.” Alex looked down at Jackson and frowned, holding back his tongue. He didn’t want to find himself lashing out at the man again or he’d probably pay the “consequences” right here and now. Either that or Mr. Agner would be in pain for pulling a stupid stunt against Alex; after all, it wasn’t wise to start shit with a professional killer. “I’ll see you in Portage Mr. Hardale,” Jackson repeated, meeting the man’s gaze, “and there you can receive the rest of your money.”

Alex nodded. “Likewise Mr. Agner. Pleasure doing business with you.”

He turned to leave but a firm, hard grasp landed on his right arm and stopped him cold in his tracks. It was a strong grasp that he hadn’t expected…from anyone. In his stunned surprise Alex looked down and saw Jackson’s hand wrapped around his arm. The man’s knuckles were white from the pressure and strength he was exerting and for a single horrifying second, Alex was actually afraid of Mr. Agner. The tables had turned and now Alex was the one that didn’t feel like being around the man. Jackson Agner was hiding something and this terrified Alex the most.

“And let me warn you now Mr. Hardale,” Jackson started in a deep, hissing voice of fury, never letting his gaze falter from Alex’s. “Don’t you fuck this job up! If you fuck it up then not only will you be in a bad situation but so will I. I hired you to do this job—I recommended you to my friend—and if you fuck it up then I won’t be trusted to hire anymore people and you won’t be trusted to be hired anymore Mr. Hardale. If you fuck it up then you’ll reap the consequences alone and you will not drag me down or so help me God I will fuck you up! I have power Mr. Hardale and I know how to use it!”

A frown crossed Alex’s face and he pulled his arm free with a violent tug. He straightened the sleeve of his overcoat and glared down at Mr. Agner. “Don’t ever touch me again. And don’t you ever threaten me again or I’ll put an end to this right here, right now! I have power too Mr. Agner and I have no problem using it…with no questions asked! I’ll have your damn job done and when I get to Portage I expect you to have my money waiting and willing with a smile on your face. Because if I hear another threat out of you I’ll make you the target of my new job!” He saw the man’s strength slowly diminish from his hard eyes. “Good day Mr. Agner.”

Alex turned, with the silver briefcase held firmly in his grip, and started away from the table, never looking back to see if Jackson’s eyes were following him. His business here was done and he had a long drive ahead of him with an even harder task preceding them. He wasn’t going to “fuck it up” as his good employer called it and he expected the rest of him money once the job was complete. He didn’t appreciate threats and Jackson was crossing the line once again, just as he had earlier. Alex was usually a calm man but not when you pushed him to the limit. He’d be in Bangor by the night, if he drove fast and well, which he usually did and the job would then be behind him.

He threw the café’s front door open and walked out into the killing cold beyond, shivering as it washed over his un-expecting body. His only warmth at the moment was the briefcase in his hands; the exact briefcase that carried his new money for a job that he expected, just as everyone else expected, to do well on. It had been a while but he wasn’t that rusty yet. He could deal with this and deal with it well.

Unlocking the Mercedes’ door, he got in and put the briefcase onto the passenger seat, laughing lightly to himself. He started the ignition and the great beast came to life, roaring in the chilling wind and rapidly falling snows outside that it hated with all its metal heart. Throwing the gearshift into drive, Mr. Hardale left the parking lot and café behind him, glancing one last time at the middle-aged man who sat in the café staring at him, before Mr. Agner was taken from his sight. He turned onto the road and started towards Bangor, Maine where his new target awaited alone and un-expecting.

The beast that he rode in roared again in anger at the winds bombarding it as Mr. Hardale, an unusually gentle man for his career choice, began to laugh merrily, glancing at the briefcase occasionally as he drove. It would be over with soon and he’d be fifty thousand dollars richer! He couldn’t wait.

Despite his need for the money and his career, which had supported him for many long years, Alex Hardale began to wonder if his heart was giving in. He began to wonder if he was getting too caring—too soft in a way—for his job. He wondered how hard it would be for him to murder this woman who he had never laid eyes on before. To kill her because someone wanted her gone, with no other given reason then that, was completely unreasonable.